The Elder Scrolls: Elsweyr
by Ojex XIII
Summary: 4E, 321. A Khajiit, Redguard, and High Elf travel the land of Elsweyr to lift the bounties on their heads and confront a group called the Earth Bones, which plans to reshape the world of Nirn with the power of the Elder Scrolls themselves.
1. Chapter I

The Elder Scrolls: Elsweyr

Chapter I

In the western reaches of the Deserts of Anequina, amongst the shifting mounds of sand and only miles from the Valenwood border, lies the city of Dune, carved from a single, colossal rock by the ancient Khajiit of the Mythic Era. Inside its walls is a thriving metropolis in which people of all races, Man, Mer, or Beastfolk, reside if they dare to brave the burning sun, devastating sand storms, and many other dangers of the desert sands. Dune is home to many things: rare and sometimes legendary items, as well as irresistible business opportunities, can be found in the bustling bazaar; the Crystal Keep, the home of the city's chief, made entirely of shimmering gems; and the Temple of Azurah, to which pilgrimages are made by Khajiit from across Tamriel in order to praise their divine creator. But above all others, the one thing that draws people to Dune is the Niirshek'aal: The Place where Blood Meets Sand. A massive coliseum, built to seat the entire populace of the city so that they may witness the gory spectacles that take place there. In times past, brave warriors would volunteer to compete there against each other, beasts, and even Dwemer automatons to the death. But now, in the in the three hundred and twenty-first year of the Fourth Era, its use has been limited for the most part, to battles of savage beasts. But on rare occasions, the crowd that gathers in the coliseum's walls will be given a treat. Today is one such day, for the crowd that gathers now anxiously waits for ten criminals, each convicted to death, to enter the arena and battle for their freedom.

In the dark labyrinth of halls and cages below the coliseum await said prisoners, their arms shackled and their necks chained together as the guards marched the ten of them to armory. As they enter the small room, its torch lit walls lined with armor and weaponry, another guard undoes their bindings. One guard comments that it seems idiotic, letting convicted murderers and thieves loose in a room full of weapons, but another reassures him, pointing out a fourth guard standing at the entrance of the arena, clad in armor made of dragon bones.

Each of the prisoners reacts differently as they feel the iron cuffs around their wrists loosen and the steel right around their necks fall away. A massive, green skinned Elf of the Orc race grunts and cracks his neck, and a prisoner of the feline Beastfolk, the Khajiit, thanks the guards, commenting that his restraints were a bit tight. Each of the ten is free to choose their own weapons and armor from the racks along the walls; a Breton, or Half-Elf, chooses the lightest armor she can find and two steel daggers while a tall, burly Nord man dawns heavy steel armor and a great sword. As they finish making their selections, they all sit down along the walls, awaiting the moment when they must enter the arena and face their fate.

As the waited, a prisoner of the reptilian Beastfolk, the Argonians, took it upon himself to break the tension. "Well, this silence is rather unnerving isn't it?" he asked nonchalantly, drawing the attention of the other nine. "Tell you all what, since we're going to be killing each other in a short time anyway, how about well all get to know each other a bit. I prefer to know my targets intimately."

"Save it, scale head." Commented a young Wood Elf woman.

"Well if you're going to be like that, I'll go first." the Argonian continued. "My name is Skeeme. I, well, killed professionally which is why I'm here."

"You were a mercenary?" the Nord asked.

"Assassin." Skeeme corrected. "Dark Brotherhood." A chill fell over them all, even the guards, at the mention of the Dark Brotherhood. Skeeme's lips twisted into a sly grin at this. This information made the slim Argonian seem much more menacing to the others, his pitch black scales shimmering in the torch light, his long snout and fang lined grin, and long tail slowly sweeping along the dirt floor making him appear demonic. "Anyone want to volunteer to go next?" he asked.

It was a Dunmer, or Dark Elf, prisoner that spoke up next. A small but fierce looking woman, her blood red hair was shaved completely on one side and only reached her jaw line on the other. She had three streaks of war paint running across her face diagonally and her dark eyes burned with fury. "My name is Dalavesa. I ran a group of bandits outside of Orcrest. Made a decent living off of it too. Was going to make a lot of coin of a kidnapping… until the high and mighty mercenary over there led the Thalmor right to me."

"Well you should've known better than kidnap a Thalmor officials wife, you foolhardy Elf!" the Nord spat at her. He was one of the biggest among them, second only to the Orc. His face was clean shaven and his dirty blonde hair reached down to his shoulders. "Names Balfor. I was a traveling mercenary. Came a long way to collect the bounty on her, but when the Thalmor guards busted in I was caught up in the mix and they brought me in as well. I'm an innocent man, I tell you!"

"Well if that's true then the Divines may smile upon you today and you'll win your freedom." One of the guards chuckled.

Balfor grunted. "Should've stayed in Skyrim."

Skeeme chuckled. "Indeed. And what about you, my fine, feline friend?" he asked, turning to the Khajiit sitting next to him. "What's our story?"

The Khajiit was the oldest among them, the fur around his muzzle white while it was dark gray with black stripes everywhere else, as was his mane which reached down to his shoulders and was braided into several strips. The skin around his eyes was wrinkled visibly, even under his fur, and he had a scar running down his left cheek. "I am S'baad… a member of the Thieves Guild. And I was damn good at it too. But my age seems to have caught up with me. Just five years ago I would've slipped by those guards and stolen those jewels without a problem."

"So you're the one who tried to steal the Diamond Eyes from the Rimmen Chief." the Breton broke in.

S'baad chuckled. "Indeed. It was supposed to be my last job before retirement. Go out with a bang and live out the rest of my days in wealth, with my daughter and whatever fool she eventually decides to marry…" he paused to sigh. "But alas, the Divines had other things in mind for me. And what of you, Half-Elf?"

"I… I'm called Helvia." she answered timidly. She was on the verge of bursting into tears, terrified that she would most likely be dead soon. She clutched her arms to her chest tightly, her fingers fiddling with a strand of her long auburn hair. She was not young, nor was she old like S'baad. "They… they caught me practicing necromancy." Another chill of silence swept through them, the forbidden magic art causing some to immediately be disgusted with her. "I j-just wanted my baby b-back. I just…" she stopped, as she was no longer able to hold back her tears.

Ignoring her sobbing as best as they could, the Wood Elf spoke next. She was young and slim, likely agile and fast as well. She had a streak of war paint running across her cheek bones and the bridge of her nose, a d her long hair, which was tied with s strip of leather at the base of her neck, reached all the way to the small of her back. "I'm Gildii." She said.

"I know that name." S'baad said, "You're a thief. And a very infamous one at that. No affiliation with the Guild either."

"If you know who I am, then I suppose you know why I'm here."

"I've heard rumors." S'baad nodded. "They say you were caught trying to steal en Elder Scroll, of all things, from the Thalmor Palace. I also heard that you actually made it off the Summerset Isles and to Valenwood before you were captured. Quite impressive, if true."

Gildii nodded. "Yep. All of it. I took the job for the Empire. Last time I get myself mixed up in politics."

"You want to talk about politics?" an imperial prisoner broke in. Had they not seen her without her armor on beforehand, the other prisoners never would have guessed the imperial was a woman. Her hair had been cut off completely, likely just before her arrest, and now only a thin layer of fuzz was growing back. Her face was covered in scars, a particularly bad one having taken a chunk out of her upper lip, exposing some teeth. "I was a captain in the Imperial army. I lead soldiers into battle against the invading Thalmor forces in Cyrodiil. The bastards captured what was left of my troops after one battle, and they're making them abandon the Empire and swear their allegiance to the Aldumeri Dominion or face death. They threw me in here just to make a point."

"I am also from Cyrodiil." The Redguard prisoner admitted. She was slim and young, but strong if the muscles in her arms were any indication. She had a small scar running across the bridge of her nose, and her snow white hair, tucked behind her ear on one side, was cut off at her jaw line. "My name is Sif." She continued. "I was a blacksmith's assistant in a small town across the border from Riverhold. I was just making a delivery to a family of Nords living there… A small Talos shrine. But they had to inspect my cart…"

"There's a reason Talos Worship is illegal, you know." The High Elf prisoner suddenly spoke up. He was young, barely an adult it would seem, and there wasn't a scratch on him. Unlike the others, it seemed as though combat wasn't something he had experienced. His light, golden hair was long, reaching back to his shoulders, and was combed back behind his pointed ears. "He's not a Divine. He was a living man."

"Oh, here we go with the know-it-all High Elf." Balfor scoffed. "I suppose you believe that the Thalmor are the saviors of Tamriel as well, right?"

"Well, yes, why wouldn't I?" the Elf questioned.

Skeeme chuckled. The way this kid spoke didn't make him seem uppity or pompous like other High Elves he had met. He seemed naïve, almost ignorant. "What's your name, kid? What are you in for?"

"I'm Sondil, son of… it doesn't matter. But I honestly don't know why I'm here. I was just shopping at the Bazaar in Senchal when some Thalmor arrested me for treason."

Skeeme chuckled. "Sounds like someone wants you, or someone you know, to keep their mouth shut about something." The Argonian was very pleased with getting everyone to open up a bit. Even these details were giving him an idea of what he was to go up against in the arena. All he had to do now was get the Orc to speak. "So what about you, big guy?" he asked. "You got a name?"

The Orc looked up and glared at the lizard man. The largest, and likely strongest, among them, the Orc was frightening to observe if one wasn't used to the presence of their race. He had one lower fang protruding from under is lower lip, the other assumedly broken off, and a series of small horns growing from his brow. His head was bald, save for a long, thin strand at the very top, tied with a leather strap where the hair met his skull. He had a full, black beard, a scar going over one eye, and his pointed ears were pierced with metal rings and spikes. "Shakh." He replied bluntly.

"Interesting name." Skeeme replied. "And your reason for joining us today?" Shakh didn't answer, instead picking up his chosen weapon, a steel warhammer, and resting it over his shoulder, his eyes never looking away from Skeeme. "Indeed." The Argonian replied sheepishly, thinking that the Orc was going to be troubled. "Well, that was fun, wasn't it? Now how about we all go out there and give it our all. I mean, I at least want a challenge."

"All right, scum, get up!" one of the guards suddenly ordered. "Time for your grand entrance."

As ordered, the ten prisoners took to their feet and made two lines at the entrance of the arena. The guard in dragon bone armor turned his back to them and flung open the doors, allowing sunlight to come pouring into the dark room, temporarily blinding those inside as they stepped out. As their eyes adjusted, the first thing that drew their attention was the massive crowd in the stands. More than likely everyone in the city must have been there. The arena was simple enough at first glance, ten sides, a dirt floor covered in a thin coating of sand, stone walls too high for even the best jumper to grab onto. Some of the prisoners suspected they might be in for a surprise or two though. The dragon guard instructed each of them to go to one corner of the arena and once they were positioned there he began to speak out to the audience.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" he called out in an impossibly loud voice, almost as if he were using the voice of the dragon slain to make his armor. "Man, Mer, and Beast! I present to you your gladiators! Ten convicted criminals, all sentenced to death! But here, in this arena, one shall claim their freedom by slaying the other nine! Only through the spilling of blood and taking of lives will one walk away from here a free man! Will it be the Orc, Argonian, High Elf, Redguard, Khajiit, Imperial, Nord, Dark Elf, Wood Elf, or Breton?" The crowd cheered in anticipation, anxious for blood. Without another word the guard in the dragon bone armor walked back to the arena's entrance and as the doors began to close, he shouted one last time, "BEGIN!"

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><p>(<strong>AN**) hey everyone. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of "The Elder Scrolls: Elsweyr". so let me explain what Im doing here. my original plan was to create one character of each race and then let you, the readers, decide who the wtory would follow via a poll. however, somewhere along the line I got ideas for a few of them and ended up getting attached. I can tell you that not all of the characters I introduced here will survive the next chapter, but feel free to guess which ones will. also, tell me which ones you liked (given their short screen time anyway). anyway, please review and Ill get the next chapter up as soon as possible. oh and sorry for houw short this is. I usually go longer but I wanted to save the big gladiator fight for the next part.


	2. Chapter II

(**A/N**) a quick note before you start reading: if the race of a character is not specified, please assume they are Khajiit (cat people), as the Khajiit are the native race of Elsweyr. thank you.

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><p>Chapter II<p>

Balfor, the Nord, and Dalavesa, the Dark Elf, moved first as the battle began, the crowd surrounding them erupting in thundering cheers when Balfor's battle axe crashed against Dalavesa's shield.

While those two battled out their grudge, the others were scoping out the competition, choosing their first targets carefully, the Imperial, Cindi, doing so quickly. "For the Empire!" she shouted as, shield raised and sword drawn, she charged across the arena at Shakh, the Orc. The massive green elf didn't so much as flinch as she came at him. With a roar she swung her arm, bringing her blade down at him; but Shakh moved so swiftly that she failed to see him raise his hammer, deflecting the attack with the handle. As the Imperial stumbled back, Shakh made his move, thrusting his hammer forward and knocking Cindi onto her back. Not wasting a second, Shakh stepped onto her chest before she could get her bearings and raised his hammer over his head. He hesitated, only for a second, seeing the fear in the woman's eyes and remembering that he once had that same fear within himself.

"I'm sorry." He muttered.

The other gladiators all stood in silence and awe as Shakh brought the hammer down, even Balfor and Dalavesa stopped to watch, and meanwhile the crowd cheered for more blood. Shakh stepped off the body and knelt down next to it, using Cindi's shield to cover her head (or what was left of it). Skeeme couldn't help but smirk at this. "He has a weakness." He whispered to himself.

After a few seconds of honoring his fallen opponent in silence, Shakh stood again. He looked out to the other gladiators. Balfor and Dalavesa had resumed their fighting; Sondil and Sif seemed to feign fighting, the High Elf intentionally missing his opponent when he cast a flame spell while the Redguard gave Sondil plenty of room to dodge great sword; at first glance it seemed like Skeeme and S'Baad were really going at it, the Argonian with a pair of short swords and the Khajiit with two curved scimitars, but Shakh was a skilled enough warrior to see that they were just sizing each other up; and Helvia stood alone, a dagger in one hand and some kind of spell readied in the other. This just left the Wood Elf, Gildii, who seemed to have disappeared.

He didn't have to look long before he found her. The Orc let out a beastly roar as an arrow struck the back of his shoulder, piercing all the way through and getting stuck once the tip had exited on the other side. Shakh stumbled a bit, but kept standing and whirled around to find Gildii with her bow aimed, already drawing another arrow. Shakh dove out of the way as the second arrow came flying at him, breaking off the head of the one that had already struck him and pulling the shaft through his shoulder once he hit the ground. He rolled back to his feet as a third arrow came at him and charged at the smaller elf. The Orc swung his hammer down at Gildii, but the quick and agile elf jumped out of the way, bouncing off of Shakh's shoulders and landing behind him. She stuffed her bow into her quiver of arrows and drew a pair of daggers, swinging around to stab her opponent in the kidney, but before she could Shakh struck her side with his hammer, knocking her to the ground.

She managed to roll out of the way before Shakh could finish her off as he did Cindi. "Bastard." She spat. "Broke two of my ribs… this is getting fun." She smirked.

From his private box in the stands, J'far, Chief of the City of Dune and its Kingdom, watched the barbaric spectacle in shame. It had been his ancestors who had put an end to the gladiator battles in the Niirshek'aal in the early Third Era; but when Elsweyr joined the Aldmeri Dominion in the early Fourth Era, the Thalmor reinstated them as an execution method for prisoners. J'far wanted nothing more than to raise his voice and end the senseless violence right then and there, but he could not. Despite being Chief of the Kingdom of Dune, his rule was not… absolute.

"Oh dear, it seems I've missed the first kill. Such a shame."

J'far turned his attention to his right, finding a High Elf in a dark hood and robes taking the seat next to him. "Justice Solfo! I did not expect you."

The Thalmor Justiciar laughed at the old Khajiit. "And miss the glorious triumph of an Altmer over all the lesser races at once? I wouldn't miss this if I were on my deathbed, you crazy old cat… The boy will be victorious, correct?"

"Indeed." J'far sighed. "The arrangements have been made."

"Excellent. From what I've heard the boy wouldn't last more than a few minutes if the fight weren't fixed. Bandits, mercenaries, infamous thieves, Dark Brotherhood assassins… and that Orc seems nigh unstoppable. Shook off an arrow going clear through his shoulder. Now that's a warrior!"

"If you don't mind my asking, why is the boy here if with deadly criminals if you're just rigging the fight to let him go?"

"Couldn't tell you. Something about teaching his father a lesson. Don't know why. I don't make the orders, I just make sure they're carried out."

"And who is his father, exactly?" J'far questioned.

"First Emissary Errif. The Mer in charge of all Thalmor operations here in Elsweyr. Apparently the big wigs back in the Summerset Isles aren't happy with his performance. So they arranged for me to fix this little scare."

"What could he have done to justify the reckless endangerment of his son?"

"Even if I know, I doubt your inferior mind would understand, Khajiit. Now let's just sit back and enjoy the show—oh! And the Nord goes down! Did you see the way that Dark Elf handled her blade? I've always said that other Elves give the Dunmer too little credit."

Back in the arena, Dalavesa stood triumphant over Balfor's dead body. With her anger against him now sated, she could concentrate on actually making it out of this alive. Holding down the lifeless Nord with her foot, she grabbed the handle of her sword and pulled it from Balfor's back. She smirked at her reflection in the bloodied blade, but as she did she also caught sight of one of the others coming up behind her. Before she could react, she felt a blade pierce her back. She gasped, coughing up blood, as she felt herself begin to bleed internally. With the last of her strength, she turned her head to look over her shoulder, finding that it was Cindi, DEAD Cindi, who had ended her life. But how? Her final thoughts were the conclusion. "The Necromanc—" she was cut short as Cindi withdrew her blade, dropping Dalavesa's body on top of Balfor's.

Cindi stood almost lifelessly as the Breton Helvia came up behind her, patting the reanimated corpse on the shoulder. "Good work, my pet." She said. She then raised her hands at the lifeless Nord and Dark Elf, dark spheres of light appearing in her palms as she muttered a short incantation. With inhuman moans, the two corpses began to rise, gripping their weapons tightly and as they awaited their master's orders. "All right, there are six left…" Helvia muttered to herself. Now that she had some strength, it was time to go on the offensive. "Get the Orc." She ordered. Without hesitation, Helvia's undead minions cried out and ran over to where Shakh and Gildii battled.

On the Redguard's signal, Sondil leapt out of the way as Sif swung her great sword at him. As he rolled onto his back, the High Elf cast a flame spell at her, which he made easy for her to dodge easily. As Sondil stood, Sif breathed heavily, holding her bade up at him. Keeping flame and frostbite spells ready, he waited for her to move. "We can't keep faking this." Sif finally said. "Only one of the ten of us is getting out of here alive."

"Seven." Sondil corrected. "There are only seven of us left now."

"But—" Sif started, but Sondil cut in.

"The Breton's a necromancer, remember?"

Sif nodded. They remained silent a bit longer. "I wish it didn't have to be like this… I'm a blacksmith, not a killer."

"Nor am I. I'm a scholar and a mage… I feel like we would be friends if we had met under different circumstances…" he stopped and chuckled. "It feels very odd to say that to someone who is not an Altmer like myself."

Sif ignored that last comment. "Tell you what, if I make it out of here, I'll make sure to deliver your body to your family." She offered.

Sondil nodded in agreement. "And I will do the same for you… friend."

Sif smirked. "It's a deal… now let's quit these games." With that, Sif charged at him, swinging her blade down while the High Elf unleashed his frostbite spell upon her.

Skeeme did a back flip through the air to avoid S'Baad as he slashed his scimitars at him, the blades barely nicking the Argonian's tail. As Skeeme landed, S'Baad came at him again and he sided stepped as the Khajiit slashed a blade down at him. Skeeme tried thrusting one of his short swords into S'Baad's side, only for the feline to block the attack with his own sword. The two agile fighters jumped back from each other, giving themselves time to catch their breath. "You're good, old cat." Skeeme called to his opponent. "I haven't had this much fun in a long time… but I can see your moves slowing down. You won't last much longer."

S'Baad seemed to ignore him and looked up to the sky. "Both moons… will be new tonight. Pity… I enjoy seeing my daughters smiling face in the moonlight when I return home."

The mention of the old cat's daughter, a thought crossed Skeeme's mind. "I'll have to pay your daughter a visit after this." He smirked, catching S'Baad's attention. "I'll need some relief from all this stress… and it's been a while since I've had the joy of defiling anyone. Tell me, is she still… innocent?"

S'Baad bared his fangs and he snarled at the Argonian's words. "You will not live long enough to touch a hair on her head, you scale headed bastard!" With a roar, S'Baad charged, slashing his blades without relent at his reptilian foe. Skeeme couldn't help but smirk as he dodged the cat's attacks. S'Baad was angry, attacking impulsively and without thought. All he had to do was wait for the Khajiit to give him an opening and this victory would be his.

Gildii easily avoided the lunging attack from Balfor's corpse and stabbed his side, between the plates of his armor, with one of her daggers. It barely seemed to face the undead Nord, but it distracted him long enough for the Wood Elf to make a go for Helvia. If the Breton died, all of her minions would go with her. But before she could reach the Half Elf, Dalavesa's body, which had been battling Shakh with Cindi's body last the elf had checked, moved in her way and slammed her shield into Gildii. The Wood Elf fell onto her back as Balfor and Dalavesa's bodies moved to finish her. As she rolled out of the way and sprang back to her feet, Gildii noticed that Thalmor Justiciar Solfo had taken his seat next to Chief J'far in the stands.

"Finally!" she muttered to herself, sheathing her daggers and drawing her bow once more. From her quiver she pulled out a special arrow, which her associates had smuggled in for her. Aiming her bow directly upward, she drew back the string and unleashed the arrow into the sky.

Everyone, even the gladiators, stopped and watched as the arrow exploded high above the coliseum in a brilliant flash of orange light. As the light consumed the sky, dozens of men and women covered head to toe in dark garbs appeared standing on the outer edge of the coliseum's walls. Nearly everyone in Dune sat within the Niirshek'aal's walls, and now all of those people were surrounded.

Silence consumed them, the once loud and cheering spectators, as they waited for these mysterious people to do something. In the arena, Gildii drew another arrow, aiming her bow at the stands this time, directly at the Chief's box.

"My lord, I feel that we should leave." One of Chief J'far's body guards advised as he drew his blade from its sheath, ready to fight off these strange people if they dared attack his leader.

"I concur." J'far agreed.

"I'll be joining you." Solfo added as he began to stand. But as he stood fully erect, Gildii let her arrow fly and it struck the Thalmor Justiciar in the throat. He collapsed back into his chair, his hands clumsily grabbing at his neck as blood poured out over his robes. Immediately the Chief's bodyguard grabbed his charge by the upper arm and dragged him towards the exit, but one of the dark clad men dropped down before him, wielding an enchanted blade that glowed with a dark aura.

"Back away of your life ends now." The bodyguard snarled, two more joining him in front of J'far.

"Brothers! Sisters!" Gildii called out from the arena, all eyes turning down to her. "These people revel in the blood and suffering of others!" she continued. "They do not deserve to join us in our new world! In the name of the divines, in the name of our forerunners, and in the name of the old ways of the Earth Bones… End them!"

On her orders, the mysterious men and women dropped down into the stands and began cutting down everyone. Man or woman; adult or child; Man, Mer, or Beastfolk; none were spared. Gildii disappeared, and a dozen of her associates dropped down into the arena and began attacking the gladiators. Shakh didn't hesitate to attack them, charging head first with his war hammer raised. But before he could strike, one of the assailants swiftly moved at him and stabbed a dagger between his ribs. The Orc roared in pain, dropping his hammer as his hands clutched at his chest, but he amazingly remained standing. He struggled to open his eyes, catching another one in front of him preparing a massive lightning bolt spell. Shakh let his eyelids fall and the spell hit him full force, knocking him off his feet and flying back, crashing through the door out of the arena. He didn't get back up.

Sif and Sondil were cornered by two of Gildii's people. The Redguard had her great sword raised and the High Elf was prepared to unleash his most powerful destruction spells, but after seeing Shakh being taken down so easily they knew they didn't have a chance against these people in a fight. Sondil did, however, have an idea, but it was risky and he would be drained of energy if he attempted it. But if he wanted to get out of there alive he had no choice. "Sif… I'm about to do something very stupid." He muttered to the Redguard. "When I do it, I'm going to count on you to get us both out of here." Sif only nodded. Without another word, Sondil cast a spell he had only ever practiced before. A portal opened between him and the attackers, and from it came three monstrous creatures. Masses of floating rocks in humanoid shapes the size of Shakh, held together by electrical energy. Storm Atronachs.

As the beasts attacked, Gildii's people completely ignored Sif and Sondil as the defended themselves from the Atronachs. Not wasting any time, Sif sheathed her sword and picked Sondil onto her back, making a dash for the exit. She jumped over Shakh, and ran into the labyrinth of tunnels under the coliseum.

Helvia stood with her back against the wall, all of her undead minions reduced to piles of ash by the attackers. "Please… please don't!"

"Necromancy is a dark and evil art, witch." The dark clad man spat at her. "I will see to it that your soul is caste into Oblivion for eternity."

Helvia trembled as the man came closer. She closed her eyes and got onto her knees, covering her face with her hands. She thought back to what had gotten her into this mess. All she wanted was to see her child again. Maybe she had gone about it wrong. She had tried to revive him with a forbidden power… and because of it they wouldn't even be reunited in death. As her thoughts drifted, she suddenly felt a body falling on top of her. It was the man who had almost killed her, now lying dead over her, his chest smothering her face. She could barely see the Storm Atronach that had killed him, but she did see it unleash another lightning attack. It hit the wall behind her, which cracked and crumbled, falling on top of her.

Only S'Baad and Skeeme remained in the arena, battling for their lives as the mysterious attackers came at them one after another. It was difficult. Both had been trained in the art of stealth and knew how to kill quickly. Direct combat was not something either of them partook in often, and definitely not with opponents of this caliber. "Cat, I have to say," Skeeme called out as he struck down one of his attackers. "If I am to die today, I am glad it is at your side and not at your blade." S'Baad paid him no heed and continued fighting.

Suddenly a sharp, whistling sound rang out from the stands. Chief J'far stood there, his attacks and guards all dead but he himself unscathed. With his fingers to his lips, he called out again, and this time something could be heard in the distance. A thundering cry of a monstrous beast. From the direction of the Crystal Keep, a great beast flew over the Niirshek'aal. A reptilian monster with leathery wings and spike running down its neck, back, and tail… a dragon. The beast landed on the side of the coliseum, looking down into the arena and the stands. As it saw some of Gildii's people go to attack innocent civilians, it unleashed a torrent of flames from its jaws, engulfing the attacker in fire and leaving only charred bones behind. The dragon went on to attack more of the dark clad men and women, defending Dune's citizens. Soon the attackers forgot about the people and turned their attention to cutting down the beast.

Left alone, S'Baad and Skeeme watched for a moment as the Gildii's people took on the dragon (and the one Storm Atronach that remained. "Well, this was most unexpected." Skeeme chucked.

"As was this!"

Skeeme suddenly felt an arm wrap tightly around his neck and a dagger pierce his chest. The Argonian choked in pain as the Khajiit whispered into his ear. "Relax… I missed your vital organs. I'll leave whether you live or not up to the Divines." With that, S'Baad withdrew his blade, casting it and Skeeme to the ground. "No one threatens my daughter." He spat before running for the exit.

In the stands, J'far watched as the attackers took on the dragon to no avail. The beast proved too much for them and, when only a handful remained, they gave up and vanished as Gildii had. J'far sighed, looking down at the carnage around him. Many of his people had died needlessly, but many more had been saved. "Thank you, my friend!" the old cat called out to the dragon. "Dune and her people owe you a great debt!"

"Feim zoloch!" The dragon called back. "You owe me nothing, friend! All I ask is to be left in peace until I am needed again." Without another word, the dragon took to the air, flying beyond the city walls and into the deserts.

J'far looked down again. The coliseum reeked of death. Bodies were strewn across the stands, many were wounded, and those that weren't did their best to help those that were, anyone with knowledge of healing magic doing what they could. "Why would anyone do this?" J'far asked himself.

"A better question: who?"

J'far turned around to find three High Elves behind him, two males clad in full golden sets of armor of the elven craft, and a female in black robes and a hood like Solfo had been. Just what he needed. More Thalmor. "And you are?" J'far asked.

"Justice Zema." The woman answered. "And we'll be discussing that dragon later. But for now I want to know who would do this… and why Justice Solfo was their first target."

"I assure, you, it is as much of a mystery to me as anyone else." J'far said.

Justice Zema nodded and looked down to the arena. "Three of the prisoners are still down there, alive. Bring them to me." The two elves in armor bowed and marched off. "I assure you, J'far. We will find out what has happened here today. This is a direct act of war against Elsweyr, as well as the Aldmeri Dominion."

"So you suspect this is some kind of Imperial plot?" J'far questioned. "Why would the Imperials attack Dune of all places?"

"The thought had occurred to me that the Empire was behind this. Elsweyr would be the logical starting point if they wished to expand into Dominion territory. But they're too busy with the war in Cyrodiil. As much as I would love to pin this on them, I can't without more evidence. And I honestly don't believe it's the Empire either. This seems more like the work of a crazed religious cult. Talos worshipers, most likely."

"Perhaps not." J'far cut in. "The wood elf mentioned something about the Earth Bones. Legends of that date far into the Mythic Era, long before Tiber Septim's Empire."

"Earth Bones, you say?" Zema questioned. She pondered this for a moment, then spoke again. "Chief J'far, I promise you that the Thalmor will do everything in their power to find out who did this and bring justice to Dune and her people."

"Thank you ma'am. Now if you'll excuse me, my people are in need."

J'far walked off going down into the stands to help healing the wounded. Justice Zema stayed behind for a moment, thinking over all she knew, before leaving herself back to her quarters at the local Thalmor Embassy branch. She had a few people she needed to contact, and the letters weren't going to write themselves.

* * *

><p>(<strong>AN**) hope you all liked this chapter. now heres the plan. Im hoping to be able to update all of my stories at least once before this semester is over with (and yes, this counts as the update for this story). that gives me 2 and a half months to do 5 updates. dunno if Ill be able to do it but Im going to try. ny next update will definitely be TTT, followed by TDH. after that, we'll see. all Ive got to say for now. later.


	3. Chapter III

Chapter III

"_Awaken, my Shadowscale… Your mother calls for you…"_

Skeeme groaned as he forced his eyes open, finding himself floating in an endless black abyss, alone. He could still feel a sharp pain in his side, where S'Baad had stabbed him, along with the occasional pinch on the surface of his skin over the wound. "Is this it?" he asked himself. "The Void? Have I passed into the arms of my mother?"

"_No, my Shadowscale. Your mother does not beckon you yet. You have a purpose yet in life…"_

Skeeme's eyes widened in awe as the ghostly form appeared before him in the void. The pale, white specter was a massive, feminine figure with bony arms as long as Skeeme's entire body. The shredded remains of what was once an elegant dress hung from its gaunt form, its leathery skin clinging to its visible ribs exposed under the destroyed garb. Its face was monstrous, like the undead: the flesh of the nose and lips rotted away, and the lifeless, white eyes sunken into their sockets. Its long, snow white hair flowed around it as if under water, spreading out in all directions and undulating. Skeeme was struck with awe by the sight of this terrifying creature, for he knew exactly who he was in the presence of.

"The N-Night Mother!" The Argonian stuttered. "I am humbled to stand before you. But, why speak to me? I am not the listener."

"_No, you are not."_ The Night Mother concurred, her voice piercing his mind like the thrill of the escape after a daring public kill. "_What you are," _she continued, _"is destined. Sithis has chosen you, my Shadowscale."_

"Chosen me?" Skeeme questioned. "For what, my mother?"

"_You will be given a choice, Shadowscale. Before the year ends, you will have your blade at the throat of history itself. It is written in the Elder Scrolls that in this time, the whole of Nirn can be reshaped in the image of mad men. When the time comes, Shadowscale, you will make a choice… And what you choose will determine whether every Man, Mer, and Beastfolk on Nirn will join Sithis in the Void."_

"This is… unbelievable." Skeeme said. "But Night Mother, what will I need to do when the time to make my choice comes?"

"_What you were born to do, my Shadowscale… you will kill."_

Skeeme's eyes snapped open as he regained consciousness. He was lying on a bed in a dimly lit room, naked with the exception of a ragged undergarment. He sat up with a groan, finding that the pain in his back had not subsided. Bandages had been wrapped around most of his torso, and it felt as though the scales over where he'd been stabbed had been removed, and the wound itself stitched shut. He glanced around the room quickly, finding that the Orc and Breton from the arena were there as well, both bandaged and unconscious on other beds. By the door, a High Elf in Thalmor armor sat, reading a book. When he saw that the Argonian had awoken, he marked his place and set the book down. "Finally awake, are we?" he asked as Skeeme swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "There are some clothes prepared for you in the next room. The Justiciar wishes to meet with you, but she would prefer that you are decent."

The assassin only nodded as he stepped out the door. On his way out he glanced at the book the Thalmor guard had been reading. "The Lusty Argonian Maid." He laughed inwardly.

In the next room Skeeme did indeed find clothes. But where he had expected to find simple rages, the garbs he found himself putting on were actually rather fancy, and expensive from the look of it. This told him that something unusual, but not necessarily bad, was happening. He'd had his reservations when learning that a Thalmor Justiciar wanted to meet with him, but now he was more curious that worried. These were the clothes of wealthy traders and politicians, not prisoners.

At the end of the hall, Skeeme found the office of the Justiciar. He stepped inside without hesitation. "Greetings, your honor! As I understand it, you have requested the presence of this filthy killer. If I might ask, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Justice Zema looked up from the letter she was writing on her desk. "Sit." She ordered. Taken aback a bit by her bluntness, Skeeme simply nodded and sat in one of the chairs across from her desk. Justice Zema finished scrawling her letter on the parchment before setting her quill aside tucking the message into an envelope. She then pulled a few papers from a desk drawer and looked them over briefly. After getting the information she needed, she replaced the papers back in the drawer and folded her hands on the desk, looking directly as Skeeme. "Sweet mother, sweet mother." She began. "Send your child unto me… for the sins of the unholy must be baptized in blood and fear."

Skeeme cocked his brow and a grin crawled onto his face upon hearing the Thalmor Justiciar say the Black Sacrament. "So it's business then." Skeeme chuckled. "Let's get down to it… tell me who you want dead."

~ANEQUINA DESERT~

Sif sat at the entrance of a small cave, her sword lying at her side, looking out to the walls of Dune in the distance under the night sky. She was trying desperately not to nod off, but she was tired. Fighting for one's life twice within the same hour tended to drain one's energy. She had sat Sondil down next to her, the young Altmer lying unconscious on the cave floor. He had saved both their lives earlier, and now Sif was struggling just to stay awake so she could make sure they stayed alive. She yawned. "How did I get myself into this mess?"

"Talos worshipers tend to find themselves in your predicament in these parts."

Sif immediately grabbed for her blade and stood upon hearing the voice, raising her sword at the speaker. She found S'Baad leaning against the cave wall opposite of her. The old Khajiit made no move to meet her hostility, his swords remaining sheathed. He took a bite out of an apple in his hand instead. "Well, perhaps most don't find themselves in a gladiator battle," he continued, his mouth still full. "But they more often than not do get the death sentence, just as you did."

"What do you want?" Sif demanded, lowering her blade slightly but still keeping it ready for a fight.

S'Baad swallowed his food before continuing. "Eat." He said, reaching down to a burlap sack at his feet and tossing it to her. She didn't go to catch it and it fell open at her feet, various fruits and vegetables and even a few roasted meats spilling out. "Murderers and thieves, lass. We've got to look out for each other."

"I am neither." Sif spat.

S'Baad smirked "Aren't you?" he questioned before taking another bite of his fruit. "Either way, we are all criminals here. You are tired and hungry. I bring you food, and a chance to rest."

"Why should I trust you? Three hours ago you were more than willing to kill me."

"Yes." S'Baad agreed as he took another bite of the fruit. "I was. When my life and freedom depended on it. But now that is no longer the case. If you do not trust me, then trust your instincts… do you not think that, if I wanted you dead, you would not have drawn your last breath before even seeing me?"

Sif stood silently for a moment, keeping her blade raised to the old Khajiit as he continued munching on his apple. She felt her arm shaking, struggling to keep the heavy weapon up. Finally, she collapsed and dropped her sword, fishing a piece of meat from S'Baad's sack and biting into it. "Don't think this means I trust you." She said between chewing. "Now what do you want?"

S'Baad chuckled before reaching into his shirt and pulling out a folded piece of parchment, handing it to Sif. She took another bit of meat before unfolding it, nearly choking on her food upon viewing the contents. "By Talos!" she half shouted. "Three hours after all that chaos and they've already got warrants out for us?" S'Baad's parchment was a wanted poster, sketches of herself, Sondil, S'Baad, and Gildii printed on it with the price of their bounty below each picture. The words "Deliver to Thalmor alive" were printed in large, bold letters at the bottom.

"Not yet. That poster is fresh off the ink-press, but they will be making their way throughout Elsweyr and undoubtedly the rest of the Dominion by tomorrow morning. And did you see what they're offering for us? Five thousand Merris a head. Ten for Sondil."

"Merris?" Sif questioned.

"The currency of the Aldmeri Dominion. You didn't think they'd use the Septim here, did you?"

"I honestly never thought about it. I was too busy being arrested and fighting for my life."

"Fair enough." S'Baad agreed. "But back to the point; since we are the only four that escaped, the Thalmor believe the three of us are in league with Gildii and her associates. With a bounty so large, I doubt even the thieves guild would be able to protect me. I propose a… temporary partnership between the three of us. We travel together and watch each other's backs until our situation can be rectified. What say you?"

"And how do you propose we go about fixing this?" Sif questioned. "You said yourself that the Thieves Guild can't protect you. The only way I could do anything is if we can sneak into Cyrodiil."

"Perhaps I could make a suggestion?" Sif looked over her shoulder to find that Sondil had awoken, sitting up groggily and holding his head in one hand. "I could get our bounties lifted if you two will escort me back to Senchal." He suggested.

"And how would you do this?" S'Baad questioned.

"My father is the First Thalmor Emissary to Elsweyr." The young High Elf explained. "Help me return home and he will be more than happy to do you this favor."

"Sounds like a plan to me." Sif agreed, handing him some food.

"I concur." S'Baad said. "But Senchal is a great distance from here. To trek through the Deserts of Anequina and the Tenmar Forest, all the way to the southern peninsula. That could take weeks. And on top of that we have no gold and very little supplies. I doubt we would survive such a journey in our current state. Unless…"

"Unless what, S'Baad?" Sif questioned.

The old Khajiit smirked. "Sleep well tonight. Tomorrow we begin our journey. Our first stop: Orcrest."

"Are you insane?" Sondil demanded. "By tomorrow morning we will be wanted throughout the Dominion and Orcrest is one of the biggest cities in Elsweyr. We'll be in chains before we can get through the city gate."

S'Baad chuckled, amused by the boy's straight forward train of thought. "Rule number one of being a good thief: never use the front door."

~THALMOR EMBASSY, DUNE~

"I believe this is very doable." Skeeme said after mulling over the offer that Justice Zema had given him. "But I don't work for free. Let's talk payment."

"Your payment will be a full pardon for your crimes. Do as I ask, and you will keep your life."

"Are you trying to swindle me?"

"You find my payment unsatisfactory?"

"Indeed I do. You have asked me to do two jobs, one where the target remains alive and one where the target does not. My life will suffice as payment for the first… but if you refuse to pay for the assassination you are not only swindling me, you are swindling the Dark Brotherhood. We are a business, and you signed a contract the second you spoke the Black Sacrament. If you don't pay the Brotherhood with gold… you will pay them with blood. Is that clear?"

Zema folded her hands over her desk and looked over to the window, mulling over what the Argonian had said. "I am many things, Skeeme. I am a proud Thalmor Justiciar, a loyal servant of the Aldmeri Dominion, and a master mage. But one thing I am not is a bad businesswoman. You are absolutely right. The Dark Brotherhood will be given proper payment for the assassination."

"A wise decision, Justiciar." Skeeme agreed.

Then there was a knock at the door. "Enter." Zema called out. It was the Breton woman, Helvia. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the Argonian.

"Oh! I'm sorry." She stuttered.

"Sit." Zema ordered. Offering the woman the chair next to Skeeme. Cautiously she stepped into the office, closing the door behind her, and took her seat. Skeeme found it amusing how his mere presence unnerved her so. Perhaps he could have some fun with this. "So, Helvia," Zema continued. "I have been told that it was necromancy that you were arrested for."

"Yes ma'am." Helvia admitted meekly, barely audible.

Zema nodded, looking back to the window. "I am truly sorry for your loss. I do not have children of my own, but I cannot imagine what it is like to lose one." Helvia didn't say a word. "Helvia, I am prepared to drop the charges against you, wipe your record clean. You will be allowed to return to your old life and the Thalmor will not disturb you again… But I require a service of you first."

Helvia looked down to her hands resting in her lap. She didn't want her old life back. There was nothing there for her but an empty cabin, memories, and impending decisions… But a chance to start over, to leave her home, perhaps Elsweyr or even the Dominion entirely, and begin her life anew… that she would like. "What is this service?" she asked.

"Ten criminals entered the arena yesterday, but seven walked out alive. You, Skeeme, and the Orc Shakh are still in Thalmor custody… But the Khajiit, the Redguard, the Altmer, and the Bosmer are not. You will work with Skeeme to find the missing four. Deliver them into Thalmor custody, alive, and you will earn your freedom."

"Well, that is a very generous offer…" Helvia said, mulling over the offer in her head. "But why us? Why not send Thalmor troops to look for them?"

Justice Zema didn't answer right away, reaching into her desk drawer and pulling out a wooden smoking pipe and a box of tobacco. She stuffed some of the weed into the end of the pipe and lit it with a flame spell, taking a puff before turning back to the Breton. "You recall the group attacked the Niirshek'aal? The Earth Bones? This group is clearly dangerous, and until we know more about them, unpredictable. Our troops will devote their time to tracking down their members and interrogating them."

"But don't you believe that the four missing prisoners are with them?" Skeeme questioned.

The Bosmer, Gildii, yes. She outright murdered a Thalmor Justice. But the other three… Some of my fellow Justices believe they are, but others and myself aren't so sure. I personally witnessed them battling the Earth Bones. You fought them alongside the Khajiit, did you not, Skeeme?"

"Indeed I did." Skeeme growled, holding his hand over his stitches through his clothes. "Is it really necessary to bring that one in alive?"

Zema took another puff on her pipe, not answering. "Your job will begin tomorrow at first light. The Thalmore will supply anything you require. Do you have any questions?"

"What of the Orc?" Helvia asked. "Shakh?"

"He will be joining you." Zema explained.

"He has already agreed?" Helvia questioned.

"No… But if he doesn't I will be very surprised, given the incentive we have for him."

~ANEQUINA DESERT~

Sif suddenly awoke as an unpleasant sent filled her nostrils. It wasn't even dawn yet, but close. She sat up and covered her mouth and nose with her hand, which barely helped. Glancing around quickly, she found S'Baad and Sondil standing at the entrance of the cave with the source of the stench: three camels. She groaned. "Camels? Are you serious?"

"What were you expecting? Unicorns? S'Baad asked. "Camels are common in Elsweyr, cheap and easily replaced. Despite the smell, they will be the easiest and fastest way to get to Senchal."

Sif sighed as she stood up and brushed herself off. "I miss Cyrodiil so much right now."

"The sooner we get to Senchal, the sooner you can go home, Sif." Sondil assured her.

"Just remember we're stopping in Orcrest first." S'Baad reminded him.

"Yeah, why are we doing that again?" Sondil questioned as he and Sif mounted their camels.

S'Baad just chuckled as he did the same. "Spoilers." He said before taking off, his camel galloping across the sand to the west, Sif and Sondil following close behind.

~THALMOR EMBASSY, DUNE~

Justice Zema rubbed her eyes as she finally finished her paperwork for the night, just before dawn. She hated surprise work, but when an attack is made on Dominion soil, sleep was not a priority. She expected that her message to the High Council on the Summerset Isles would be arriving about now, so she had at least a day before she expected a reply. Skeeme and Helvia had already returned to bed. All she had to do now as recruit the Orc and she could rest.

Speak of the devil.

Shakh threw open the door to Zema's office and stomped up to her desk, his massive form casting a shadow over the smaller elf. He did not look happy. "You have the audacity to demand my presence here… after what you did?" he was seething. She saw the wood of her desk crack as his hands gripped the edge. She had to be careful. He was controlling himself now, but if she said the wrong thing or made the wrong move he wouldn't hesitate to try to snap her neck. He would fail, of course, but he would certainly try.

"You have every right to be angry, Shakh." The Altmer said calmly. "What happened to you was not only a tragedy, but also illegal by Dominion law."

"Dominion law?" Shakh snarled, baring his teeth. "I couldn't give a damn about Dominion law! It's bad enough that your laws forbid the Orsimer people from leaving their strongholds. If you had the opportunity I'm sure the Thalmor would wipe my people off the face of Tamriel!... But even after turning our homes into internment camps… You have the gaul to march into MY stronghold, slaughter MY family… and then frame ME for the deed!... Give me one good reason why I shouldn't rip your entrails out with my bare hands and then burn this embassy to the ground."

Zema sat silently for a moment, looking up to the enraged Orc dead in the eye, showing no fear, only composure. "I believe actions speak louder than words, Shakh." She finally said. "I could beg for your forgiveness or mercy and you could kill me and burn this embassy to the ground. But do you know what that would make us?" he didn't answer. "That would make me a sniveling coward and you the mindless beast that the Thalmor believe all Orsimer to be. But we both know that's not what we are. We both know that you are a man, Shakh… not a beast. And I am going to give you chance to prove it."

"And how does this make you any less of a sniveling coward?" Shakh growled.

"You will do a service for me, Shakh. You will work with Skeeme and Helvia on the task they have already agreed to. And in return for finishing this service, you will earn the freedom of every Orc in the Dominion… including your son."

The rage disappeared from Shakh's face, replaced by shock and disbelief. "My… my son? Rorik is alive?"

Zema nodded. "Bring him in." she called out. Shakh turned around as the door opened. Two guards escorted a small Orc inside, maybe eight years old and the spitting image of his father.

"Rorik!"

"Papa!"

The little Orc tore himself away from the two guards and ran towards his father who knelt down and opened his arms to the boy. The father and son embraced each other as if for dear life. Tears were rolling down the old Orc's cheeks and his son was visibly sobbing. "I was so scared, Papa… There was fire and screaming… They… they killed Daddy."

"I know son. I know… I'm just glad you're okay."

"We found him wandering the dessert on the verge of heat stroke a few days after your stronghold was attacked." Zema explained.

Shakh picked up his boy and turned back to the Altmer woman. "You really aren't like the others." He said. "I can't thank you enough for saving my son and reuniting us."

"It is the least I can do as an apology to a falsely convicted man."

Shakh nodded and then remembered Zema's offer. He had completely forgotten, having been overcome by the sight of the son he had thought was dead. "And this offer… you said that if I succeed, the Thalmor will allow my people to freely leave their strongholds?"

"I can guarantee it."

"Why?" Shakh questioned. "Locking up the Orsimer was one of the first laws created by the Dominion. Why would you repeal that just because of me?"

Zema leaned over her desk and looked at the Orc straight in the eye. "There are forces at work in Tamriel much bigger than the Thalmor of the Septim Empire." She explained.

Shakh only nodded, not thinking too hard about what she meant. He looked at the boy in his arms, still holding him tightly like he never wanted to let go. "You will take my son to an Orc stronghold. Somewhere where I can be sure he will be safe… especially from you."

"Of course."

"Then I'll do it."

Zema nodded to him before turning to the window. "It will be dawn soon. Go get some rest. Spend time with your son. Your job begins at daybreak." Shakh nodded and headed for the door, carrying Rorik with him. The two guards left as well, closing the door behind them. Zema waited only for a moment before getting up and crossing the room to lock the door. "Are you going to hide in the shadows all night or is there business to discuss?"

Sitting in the window was the Wood Elf, Gildii, having silently snuck into the room in the short time that Zema had her back turned. "You are very good, you know that?" she asked with a grin. "Couldn't have put the pieces in place better myself."

"I'm just following orders." Zema replied.

"Well you've outdone yourself." Gildii suddenly produced two bottles of ale, tossing one to the High Elf and uncorking the other for herself. "To the creation of a new world." She toasted, raising her bottle before beginning to down the contents.

Zema looked down to her bottle but did not open it. "To the restoration of the old one." She corrected.


End file.
